Page 26 of Accidentally Kidnapping the Hitman

When I hit the exact right angle, Annie howls and claws hard at my back. With any luck, there’ll be pink lines on the skin when I check the mirror in the morning.

For now, though, I grit my teeth and savor the burn in my muscles as I fuck my girl over and over, working her into a sweaty, trembling, red-faced mess.

“Please,” she babbles after a while, clawing at my chest and shoulders like she’s trying to climb my body. With every hard thrust, Annie’s tits jiggle and her eyes practically roll back. “Please, oh please. Make me come. Make me come. It’s so—feels so good. I can’t stand it anymore.”

Christ, I know what she means. The pleasure of thrusting inside Annie’s body, the sweet sensation of feeling her grip my cock, those inner muscles trying to suck me deeper—it’s almost too much to bear.

A drop of my sweat lands on Annie’s forehead. I bend down and lick it off, and this cramped little bedroom is more hot and humid than a tropical rainforest right now. We’ve changed the climate with our need for each other.

“Dean,” Annie begs, her voice cracking.

I bend down and kiss her roughly, claiming her mouth with every ounce of desperation I feel for this woman—and let go of her ass to snake a hand between us and rub at her clit.

“Mmph.Mmph.” Annie’s sounds are muffled against my mouth, but she doesn’t need to tell me that she’s close. I can feel it firsthand in the way her pussy clamps down on my shaft, muscles fluttering; in the way she goes rigid in my arms, clinging tight.

I keep thrusting. Keep rubbing at the slippery bundle of nerves between her thighs; keep stroking our tongues together. Even as my pulse thuds in my ears and my balls pull up close to my body, every nerve in my body sparking with electricity. I keep going, chasing her there. Working my girl higher.

When Annie breaks, falling apart in my arms—it’s like my brain breaks too. White static fills my skull, and my ears ring like there’s just been an explosion as pleasure storms through every cell in my body. It’s elemental. Unreal.

And when the room fades back in, I’m wedged as deep in Annie Lowell as I can go, groaning like a beast as I pump her full of hot come.

“Shit.” My words are slurred, like I’ve been whacked over the head. Feels that way, too. “Sorry. I should’ve pulled out.”

Even as I say it, I’m still thrusting slowly, still filling her up with long spurts. Pushing my seed as deep as it can go. Stupid caveman brain.

But Annie laughs, breathless, and wriggles beneath me. She kisses my neck.

“Don’t you dare, Dean Kinnear. I like how this feels. It’s so… primal.”

That it is. Primal’s a good word for it. A good word to describe how I feel about Annie in general: like I’d die for her. Like I’d kill for her. Like she’s the central point in my universe, the point that everything else orbits around.

With one final spurt, I collapse to one side with a groan and pull Annie close, still wedged inside her. My shaft starts to soften, but then it twitches at the thought of taking her again. Of doing that all over, but in another position. Of fucking my girl until the light of dawn peeks around the curtains, or until I’m too damn chafed to move. Whichever comes first.

“Better hydrate,” I tell Annie, nodding to the glass of water on her nightstand. “We’ve got a long night ahead of us.”

* * *

Three years later

It’s dark when I pull up outside the townhouse we bought last year. Only a few blocks away from Annie’s old apartment, we’re still in the artsy, friendly neighborhood on the outskirts of the city—but now with more space and privacy. Oh, and with a couple spare bedrooms for whatever munchkins come along, or for Wyatt to crash in whenever he stays late after dinner.

Feels good to come home. Even though I’ve only been gone for one shift, it’s always good to come home.

The van engine dies, and the night is cool and quiet when I step out onto the sidewalk. Stars glitter overhead, and the air smells like blossom from a nearby tree. There’s a beep when I lock the van, stowing away all my work equipment until tomorrow.

Turns out working as a hit man is great prior experience for setting up as a security consultant. I know firsthand how someone might try to break into certain properties. Can assess with a single glance the weaknesses in a security set up. And hey, my clients know better than to ask how I came by all this specialized knowledge—they just want my expertise.

Works for me.

My boots thud against the stone steps as I climb up to the townhouse front door and key in our own security code, then scan my fingerprint. Can never be too careful, you know?

The door swings open under my palm, and I step into the lobby, still musing privately about the turn my life has taken. For the record: I still have rules. Just like I refused to ever kill a good person, I refuse to help protect complete assholes. They’re on their own.

Luckily there are still plenty of decent people out there who deserve good security, and business has been going well lately. Booming, even.

“Annie?” I call.

I’m back late, but notthatlate. As I glance around the dim hallway, hanging my jacket on the hook, the back of my neck prickles.

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